Chapter 3
Chapter Three
King
Gary pulls the car up the winding drive that leads to Jim’s lake cabin.
Jim owns the cabin, the entire lake, and everything within a thirty-mile radius.
He’d planned to make it into another retreat, but Florida Man draws far too much attention to this beautiful section of America. We’d never be able to hide here.
The nearby swamp is excellent for disposal services, however. Those reptilians make quick work of any evidence we offer their gaping jaws. This and Jim’s Louisiana wildlife reserve have really been a boon.
As we pass the small clearing just below the cabin, I see another of Jim’s purchases; RVs stand in rows, the entire fleet waiting for us to set off tomorrow morning. Jim’s is the largest, naturally. It’s more of a tour bus than an RV. He’ll share his house on wheels with that blasted bird.
I’ll be traveling alone. It’s how I prefer it.
It’s how I’ve always preferred it.
There have been times in my life where I thought that had changed.
Once, I believed I could settle down, be a provider and a supporter to a woman and a little girl who needed it, but that dream would never be realized. The ultimate denial was her death, and it showed me that I had it right all along.
Attachment is the downfall of man. We are better alone.
I’m happier this way, and I’m far too old to change now. Hell, I was far too old to change ten years ago. Maybe it was never meant to be.
The trees cluster again as we crawl up the driveway. When they break apart once more, the cabin peeks through the remaining branches. It’s a three-story log number that looks as if it were built by the hands of a god. I’d much prefer carrying out our fun here, but again, Florida Man.
“Wow,” Gary breathes. He tightens his grip and leans over the steering wheel to get a closer look. “That’s a nice place.”
“You know Jim.”
“Spared no expense,” we say in unison.
“Jim said your attire is in your upstairs bedroom.” I shove my phone into my pocket. “We’re dining in the basement. The dining room wasn’t grand enough, apparently.”
“Oh, I don’t think I should go to dinner,” he says with a shake of his head. His jowls waggle. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to impose. I’m just part of the staff.”
“Don’t be ludicrous. You’ve become part of the inner circle, and we want you there.”
He taps the steering wheel with his fingers, then puts the car in park. “If it’s all the same, I think I’ll just stay in the car.”
“Suit yourself,” I say before sliding out of the back seat. I lean back inside. “You could always peruse your RV. The assignments are taped to the doors. I’m not sure who Jim placed you with, but I’m sure you’ll get on well.”
“I think he put me with Ice Pick and Blayne.” He scrunches his nose. “Better than Chef Maurice, I guess.”
I scowl and close the door. I specifically told Jim I did not want Ice Pick’s new friend tagging along.
Something about that lad rubs me the wrong way, but everyone is so blasted enamored with his good looks and bloody accent.
They can’t smell the sour stench just underneath, but I do. I damn well do.
I’ll just keep a close eye on him.
After grabbing my bag from the trunk, I start up the walkway. Frankie and Maverick give me a wave as I pass. They’re busy canoodling in their formal wear on the garden swing. Frankie sports a black-on-black suit that almost matches Maverick’s.
Her mother was a fool for treating her as she did. She’s the most accomplished agent in our department.
Aside from me.
Cat rushes off the porch, poking earrings into her ears as she flies down the steps. A hot-pink sequined gown clings to her curvy frame.
“How far is the walk to the RVs?” she shouts toward me. “I packed up my damn heels!”
“Gary can drive you down.” I throw my thumb toward the car still parked nearby.
“Perfect,” she whispers with a grin.
I draw closer to the porch, and voices reach me from all sides—a distant scream; Jim whinging about something, and quite loudly, at that; Kenny screeching from somewhere to my right—and I can’t help but wonder if this is a vacation or a slow form of torture.
Why are the moments just before a trip so damn chaotic? And why on earth did Jim think it was a good idea to have an inaugural dinner when we’re all in a state of uproar?
No matter. The only way out is through.
I set my jaw and enter the cabin. I trudge through a gaggle of frantic people, then head upstairs to my room.
Everyone has their own quarters in this lakeside mansion, and mine are situated on the top floor, on the opposite side of the house from Jim’s. I follow the landing to my hallway, then find my door near the end.
I carry my bag inside and drop it by the foot of the bed—a California king for King, of course, with four hand-carved posts. I don’t have time to see much else before Kindra bursts through the door.
“Thank fuck you’re here,” she says.
Ezra and Eve follow hot on her heels. They all look positively knackered. Ezra isn’t even in his formal attire yet.
“Jim has locked himself in his room and refuses to come out,” Kindra says. “He keeps wailing something about that sloth. We don’t know what to do.”
“You’re the best man for the job,” Ezra says. “You have a way with him.”
They have no idea.
About so many things . . .
With a sigh, I abandon my room and head to the other end of the hall. The trio trails me. I don’t hear the cries of anguish until I’m nearly upon the threshold, and it’s as bad as I feared. I look back at them.
“You lot carry on with dinner preparations. I’ll handle Madigan.”
They nod and hurry off to deal with their tasks.
I try the knob, but it’s locked. Figures. Jim was always one for melodrama. If I didn’t have to beat down the door to talk him off a ledge, it wouldn’t feel right.
I roll my eyes and pound my fist against the thick slab of wood. “Open up, Jim. Your old mate is here to help.”
He wails in response.
“Open the damn door or I’ll bring it down myself!”
Feet scurry on the other side, and the door eases open a crack. Jim’s eye peeks through. “You don’t have to yell,” he pouts.
With a rush of cigar-scented air, the door blows open and reveals Jim in a purple smoking jacket and nothing else. I try not to stare at his limp penis as I cough and wave off the stench of his dismally dark quarters.
“Are you still lighting those things? You don’t even smoke.”
Jim continues pouting as he flops into a massive leather recliner. “It makes me look cool.”
“Yes, well, it’s terrible for that poor bird.”
“You’ve never had a pet in your life, so what do you know? And for your information, I never light up around him! One of the staff has taken him for his evening stroll, and I decided it might help me calm down.”
I grimace. “The smell lingers.”
“Kenny isn’t staying in this room! He has his own wing, which you would have known if you’d asked instead of assumed.”
“You care more about a bird’s lungs than mine?”
“Did you come to complain, or did you come to find out why I’m so damn distraught?” He flops across the arm of the chair and wails again. “It’s like no one even cares about me.”
“What’s all this bother about, then? Spit it out. I have a walk-in shower calling my name.”
“I hate her, King. I hate her!” He kicks his legs and throws a tiny tantrum. “She’s the absolute worst! Meanwhile, where is my sloth?”
My shoulders droop, and I head for the side table to pour myself a bourbon. I’ll need it.
“What’s the matter? Find a little bird who won’t sing for you?” I sit on the couch beside his chair and take a long pull from the glass. “You need my help? Is that it?”
Jim lifts his head and smiles. “Could you help me?”
I tip my head to the side.
“She’s young and pretty,” he teases. “I think you’ll like getting info out of this one.”
“I don’t fuck my kills anymore. You know that.”
His face brightens. “Oh, you don’t have to kill this one. She’s one of us.”
Well, now I am intrigued.
And . . . mildly concerned.
“She’s a killer? You kidnapped one of us, Jim? What were you thinking?”
“That I would like to find the sloth,” he whispers, and he sounds so pathetic and downtrodden that I can’t find it in me to be peeved with him.
“Who is she?” I ask. “At least tell me that much.”
“Oh, no one you know.” He cuts his gaze away from me and traces the stitching on his chair.
“Jim?”
“That’s not important. Just tell me if you’ll help me.”
“No.”
He goes to clap his hands and cheer, but then my response hits him between the eyes. He slumps and folds his arms over his chest. “No, you won’t help me? Or no, you won’t tell me?”
“Take your damn pick.”
“Well, why not?”
“Because I won’t agree to anything without having the details. At least take me to her.”
Jim sits and considers this. He has a three-course argument in his mind; I see the way his eyes jump as he fights with himself. Finally, he relents.
“Fine, but she’s riding with you. I’ve already had your RV fitted with her restraint system and soundproofing in case she wants to scream.”
He rises to his feet and motions for me to follow him out of his chambers, and I do, but if he thinks the conversation is over, he’s wrong.
Customizations like that would have taken some time, meaning he’s been planning this for some time.
He’s got more up his sleeve than he’s letting on. I’m not daft.
“I travel alone, Jim.” I nod at Ice Pick as we pass him in the hallway. “That won’t change. I don’t care how pretty she is.”
“Don’t be afraid to change your mind when you see her,” he says in a sing-song voice.
We head down the double staircase leading into the back of the house. He strolls through the massive mansion, down corridors, and past Sinners and crew, and I keep step behind him. Aven wanders by with Bennett in tow, the two of them arguing about the merits of an ax over a katana.
“Depends on the time of day,” I shout at them over my shoulder.
“See?” Bennett whispers to Aven. “Told you.”
I smirk to myself. They may be men to the women who love them, but they’re still just boys to me.